Funny old week. All about women’s legs. And a letter. The kind that used to be known as a “Dear John” note.

The two might not have seemed to be naturally linked at first, had not they both caused varying degrees of fury and had not the author of that farewell missive been a woman – with legs.

Those who were most angry, about all of it, also claimed both newsworthy flashpoints had launched us on a time-travel journey back into the 1970s, which may or may not be true.

That’s the problem with time travel. It can be a hellishly bumpy road, but you don’t know what you’re in for or where, specifically, you might be headed until you get there.

It’s a bit like your first trip (in the 1970s?) to a B&B holiday in Blackpool. Or camping in the Lakes. What had seemed to someone like a good idea at the time, dimmed a bit – rather a lot – on arrival, when the rain set in.

However, it’s probably best not to dwell on the extremities of any personal feelings regarding the week’s Article 50 Shades of May here, in spite of being a woman with legs and therefore entitled to rage alarmingly.

Anne Pickles Though being angry is the new something to do to cheer yourself up on an otherwise uneventful day, it’s not always the most satisfying course of action. Life’s too short to manoeuvre without a smile on your face… while time-travelling into the unknown.

I took my legs off for walks. Long walks, on short legs, are good for clearing the mind of exasperation and disappointment, I find. They’re also cheap – until you need to buy the corn plasters afterwards.

But be that as it may (good grief, there she is again!) they offer chance for reclaiming perspective. You know what they say: if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs – you’re probably missing the point.

That’ll do for now. I’ll take that. And a pint of Windermere Blonde, if you’re offering.

In brighter news, it was reported this week by one of those upmarket travel guides that Cumbria will be one of the top must-go holiday destinations, post Brexit, when the pound’s worth is squeezed into the equivalent of a handful of pennies. Cumbria and Serbia.

Yeah, I know. A curious coupling.

But knock nothing until you’ve tried it – apart from camping and Blackpool, that is.

It’s entirely possible, indeed likely, that we’ll see a lift here in terms of visitor numbers, now that Dear John – actually Dear Donald – letter has been hand-delivered to Mr Tusk in Brussels. Hardly surprising, by the way. Have you seen the price of first class postage?

Serbia and Cumbria in competition, who would have thought it? Best gird our loins; spruce up, put best feet forward and yes, shake a leg, to grab a lion’s share of the shifting tourism business.

Indeed it has been a funny old week. Chances are there’ll be plenty more of those and ability to keep smiling will be sorely tested. The trick is to keep trying.

After all, not everything about the 1970s was bad. Not all the time, anyway. Crass fixations with women’s legs and bad, sexist jibes aside, there must have been pleasant bits. They’ve just slipped my mind, for now.

And Mrs May – she of the Article 50 Shades storm – did say that all that leg ogling, as she discussed the most pivotal challenges in more than a generation of UK history, was “a bit of fun”.

Unfortunately, we didn’t all see it that way and a lot of us got angry, since we hadn’t yet landed back in her 1970s. Guess we’ll need time for that.

On the other matter. That letter – well, she did use a very beautiful fountain pen to sign her name. I’d love one of those.

Which is as much as I dare say on the subject.

I’m in danger of getting cross again and having to take these short legs and painful corns for another long walk.

And it’s raining…